


stay with me

by birthmarks (orphan_account)



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Absentee Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Hospitals, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 02:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/birthmarks
Summary: Isak breaks his arm at the skatepark, ends up in the hospital, and realizes that there’s one person he can always count on.Based on the prompt for SKAM fic week's day two: bed sharing.





	stay with me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for SKAM fic week! (It’s still day two in some timezone, okay. Alaska or something.) Thanks to allyasavedtheday for organizing this! I’m enjoying seeing what people have come up with so far. :)
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this innocent (…for me…), little thing I quickly came up with.
> 
> Takes place the summer before season three.

The first time Isak opens his eyes, all he sees is Jonas.

It’s an unusual first sight, but Isak isn’t complaining. He takes a moment to marvel at how great Jonas looks with his jaw clenched and his thick eyebrows furrowed. Concerned Jonas is hot. Isak wonders what he’s so worried about.

It takes him two more seconds to recognize the scorching pain in his arm.

“Agh!” He hisses, or at least he thinks that’s the sound that comes out of his mouth. His hand quickly reaches up to cradle his left bicep.

“Shit,” Jonas curses from above him. He thinks that he’s lying on Jonas’s lap for some reason. Jonas’s hand cradles Isak’s jaw, thumb brushing against his cheekbone softly. If Isak wasn’t in immense pain, he’d be over the moon about the intimacy of the gesture, but it kind of flies over his head. “You’re awake, thank god. Mom is taking us to the hospital. How are you feeling?”

Isak can feel himself struggling to breathe. His head feels fuzzy, and the feeling of Jonas carding his fingers through his hair isn’t exactly helping. “What... the hell... happened?”

“You fell at the skatepark,” Jonas’s mother recounts from further away. When Isak turns to the direction of her voice, she’s in the driver's seat. Apparently he’s in a moving vehicle. “You broke your arm and hit your head soon after. You might have a concussion.”

Fuck. “Call my dad,” Isak rasps out. He’s feeling woozy, as if he’s about to pass out. For the second time, since supposedly he had done that earlier.

Jonas looks grim at the suggestion, but he says, “Yeah, okay, Is.”

Isak promptly blacks out again.

–

The second time Isak opens his eyes, he’s definitely out of it.

To be honest, he doesn’t remember much. Jonas tells him that when they showed up at the hospital, his mom said Isak was a distant nephew staying with them on vacation and the nurse somehow bought it.

He’s pretty sure they put him on some kind of drug to numb the pain after they determine that he probably _isn’t_ concussed, because he feels very loopy, but they’re making him stay overnight to keep tabs on him.

His entire arm is wrapped in a cast. It’s boring and white and he can already feel his hand getting sweaty and cramping up, but he doesn’t mind it so much.

The _I_ _can’t take you anywhere you uncoordinated loser_  written on it makes him giggle a lot more than it should when he sees it. He thinks that has more to do with the heart next to it, rather than the sentence itself. (Or maybe it’s the drugs, who knows.)

Jonas holds his free hand and asks if he’s okay ten more times before Isak passes out.

–

The third time Isak opens his eyes, it’s eerily quiet.

He thinks it’s late. The hospital is clearly no longer busy as the bustling sounds have simmered down, and the only noise he can hear are the cars outside the window.

Jonas is still here, asleep on a plastic chair, because of course he is. Of course he refuses to leave. Such typical Jonas shit.

(Isak is so grateful for him that it hurts.)

The only light in the room is that of the overhead above his hospital bed. Which is supremely uncomfortable, but it can’t be nearly as bad as the chair Jonas is sleeping on.

“Jonas,” Isak says. He repeats it louder when he doesn’t stir the first time, causing him to startle awake.

Isak watches as he looks around the room, disoriented. “Hmm?” Jonas asks.

“Aren’t you uncomfortable like that?” Isak asks quietly.

Jonas burrows further into the chair, crossing his arms and closing his eyes again. “I’m fine, Is, don’t worry about me. Are you feeling alright?”

Isak ignores the question. Maybe it’s the fact that he still feels kind of delirious, but he ends up blurting out, “Come sleep next to me.”

Jonas’s eyes snap open. “I—no, I can’t. You’re hurt.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “Jonas. Get over here. Lay on my other side, you won’t bother me.”

He can see the moment Jonas cracks. He tries not to let it be a big deal, ignores Jonas stretching out as he stands up from the chair and makes his way around the bed, but his heart is pounding erratically in his chest.

They’ve done this before, many times, but not in a bed this tiny.

Isak shuffles over as much as he can as Jonas slips in next to him, under the covers. There isn’t a fraction of Isak’s side that isn’t touching Jonas, and he wonders if Jonas can feel his heartbeat pulsing through his body like a livewire.

Scared that Jonas might actually be able to feel the humming of his body, he speaks. “Did my dad stop by while I was asleep?”

Jonas deflects. “God, you’re so fucking pointy, it’s like sleeping next to a bag of bones.”

Isak knows what Jonas isn’t saying. His dad didn’t show up. He just wishes Jonas had the guts to tell him.

“Jonas, tell me,” Isak says. He’s angry. Angry at the world for giving him such a shit father, who can’t even bother to check up on his son in the hospital. Angry at Jonas for always trying to spare his feelings, like he’s a goddamn baby. “I don’t need protecting, I can fucking handle it.”

Jonas hesitates. “I know you can handle it, but…”

“But what?” Isak counters. “I’m not a child.”

“It’s not about that, Isak,” Jonas insists. He’s craning his head, trying to meet Isak’s eyes, but Isak refuses to look at him. He hears Jonas sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad at your dad, but don’t take your anger out on me. You know I hate that misplaced emotion shit.”

The anger instantly seeps out of him at Jonas’s words. He hates when people do that, too.

“Sorry,” Isak mutters. “He didn’t come, did he?”

“No,” Jonas says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

“Go back to sleep, Issy.”

He does.

–

The fourth time Isak opens his eyes, the room is pitch-dark.

His eyes flutter open, adjusting to the darkness. He shifts a bit. Jonas has practically enveloped his body while they were asleep, arm and leg thrown over Isak’s side and head resting on Isak’s chest. The heat of his body is pressed against his side, burns Isak’s skin through the layers of their clothes.

(There’s no doubt about it: they were cuddling.)

Isak can tell from Jonas’s breathing that he’s in the process of waking up as well. He holds still, prepared for Jonas to flinch away when he realizes their position, but nothing happens.

“Hi,” Jonas whispers against Isak’s chest, when he’s finally conscious.

“Hey,” Isak replies softly.

“What time is it?”

Isak looks around the room and spots an alarm clock, displaying 3:07.

“Three in the morning.”

Jonas hums at this, and then asks, “Are you feeling okay?”

Isak wonders if Jonas realizes how many times he’s asked that question today. He wonders if Jonas realizes that this is his version of saying, _I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken you there when I knew you couldn’t skate. I’m sorry, this is my fault_. “Well, my arm is broken, I think I’m still a little high on the last bit of drugs in my system, and my dad is an asshole. But I think I’m okay.”

Jonas snorts, lip twitching. “Well, I’m here.”

“Yeah, and you’re heavy as fuck,” Isak says, trying to put some annoyance in his tone.

The truth is that Isak likes the feeling of Jonas’s weight on top of him. The heaviness grounds him in the moment; it makes him believe this might be real.

“Sorry, should I move?” Jonas asks. He actually sounds concerned, because that’s the kind of person Jonas is. Always afraid to hurt others, even if it might be from cuddling them to death.

“It’s fine, bro.”

Jonas doesn’t move an inch. If anything, he relaxes further into Isak’s body.

It’s quiet between them, but it’s normal in the way it always is. Isak relishes in the strange sense of comfort he feels when he’s in Jonas’s presence.

Usually he enjoys silence, but tonight he feels the need to disturb it. “I hate my dad,” he confesses into the darkness of the night.

“I know,” Jonas replies, arm tightening around Isak’s waist. It’s almost a hug. An odd hug, but it works.

“He doesn’t give a fuck about me at all.”

“That’s impossible,” Jonas says, looking up at him. His chin is pressed against Isak’s shoulder, but it doesn’t hurt.

“It is very possible.”

“Aw, Issy, who could not give a fuck about this face?” Jonas teases, lifting his arm to pinch Isak’s cheeks. That one does hurt.

“Fuck off,” Isak mumbles, trying not to smile. Jonas puts his arm back around him and rests his head on the pillow, so close to Isak that he can feel his breath.

Isak isn’t sure what it is. Maybe it’s the drugs. Maybe it’s security of the darkness, the feeling that this might all be a dream. Maybe it’s the way Jonas doesn’t feel the need to move away from him. But for the first time in a long time, he wants to tell someone.

“He sure as hell wouldn’t care about me if he knew the truth.”

“The truth about what?” Jonas murmurs. Not pushing. Patient. Kind.

Isak swallows thickly. “About me.”

“You want to be a little more vague or am I supposed to guess?” He sounds way too amused for the gravity of the situation. If only he knew what was going on in Isak’s mind right now. If only he knew how much he hated himself for this.

Isak takes a deep breath, and allows the truth to come out with his exhale. “I don’t think I like girls,” he whispers, almost inaudible.

He can’t believe he did it. He’s terrified. He trusts Jonas, knows he’s a good person and that he isn’t a bigot, but he doesn’t know how exactly he’ll react. Will he push him away? Tense, turn away, make an excuse to separate their bodies?

“You don’t think so?” Jonas asks quietly. He doesn’t even seem surprised.

Isak is thrown off by the easiness of the question, but he rolls with it. “Well, I’ve never kissed a guy, so… not sure.”

“Straight people don’t have to kiss each other to know they’re straight, and you don’t either,” Jonas says wisely. “Don’t listen to that heteronormative crap.”

It’s three in the morning and Jonas is lecturing him on heteronormativity. He waits for Jonas to say more, but that seems to be it. “You aren’t surprised?”

Jonas smiles at him. It’s dark in the room, but his eyes have adjusted, and the moonlight is slipping through the shutters on the windows. It fans over Jonas’s face, his messy hair and his dark eyes, and Isak can’t look away.

“Kiss me.”

“ _What_?”

“If you want to know for sure, you can kiss me.”

Isak doesn’t understand what is happening. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I want to help you.” As if it’s that simple.

But it isn’t that simple to Isak. “I can’t kiss you.”

“Why not? Am I that unattractive?”

Isak laughs and looks away. He can’t believe this is a real conversation he’s having with his best friend. “No, it’s not that, it’s just…”

Jonas rises from his place beside Isak’s head, and places his hand on his cheek. “Isak,” he says. And nothing else.

Isak turns, meeting his eyes. If he thought he was terrified of telling Jonas before, it’s nothing compared to this. Jonas looks so serious that it genuinely scares him. He doesn’t know how to place the look on his face.

When Jonas leans in, it’s tentatively, as if to give Isak a chance to pull away if he wants to.

(He doesn’t want to.)

Isak stays still, and waits. Jonas tilts his head upward, moving in to kiss beside his mouth. Gently, at first, brushing against the corner of his lip. So, so close to where Isak really wants him. 

Jonas pulls away slightly, but only to move his lips diagonally, kissing Isak’s cheekbone. Once, twice. Softly, reverently. Brushing his nose along the slope of his face. Isak holds his breath. 

He can’t stand it. The hand Jonas has on his cheek tingles. He licks his lips and tilts his head, meeting Jonas’s lips with his own.

The kiss is sweet. It’s the sweetest thing Isak has ever felt. The way Jonas’s lips are moving against his, lightly with just enough pressure to constitute as a proper kiss, makes Isak’s blood boil. His chest aches. He’s kissed girls before, but none of it felt remotely similar to this. None of it felt real. None of it was _Jonas._

It only lasts about ten seconds, but Isak feels breathless when Jonas pulls away. He looks equally as dazed as Isak feels, and Isak wonders what is going through his head.

Jonas bites his lip, but doesn’t look away from him, doesn’t pull his hand away. Isak has to give him props for that. Then, he asks, “So?”

“Huh?” Isaks says dumbly, not understanding.

Jonas raises his eyebrows, and Isak remembers why they did this in the first place. He snorts, and replies frankly, “Uh, yeah, I’m gay.”

Jonas laughs a little too loudly at that. “Okay, Is. I’m glad you figured that out.” He snuggles back into his side, head comfortable on Isak's shoulder, wrapping his arm around him once again. Isak wants to ask what just happened, but it’s late and they’re tired and he might be hallucinating this entire thing, so he decides that if anything, he’ll wait for the morning.

He decides to give Jonas a way out. “If we fall asleep like this, the nurses will catch us in the morning and throw a fit.”

“Let them,” Jonas replies sleepily. Isak’s heart sings. “Also—you’re okay, right? No more pain?”

Isak smiles. “Go to sleep, Jonas.”

They sleep peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter [@BlRTHMARKS](https://twitter.com/BlRTHMARKS)!


End file.
